


Web I Weave

by KuriKoer



Category: C6D - Fandom, Canadian 6 Degrees, Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Angst, Doomed Relationship, Drug Use, M/M, Missed Opportunities, Sex, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriKoer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missed opportunities</p>
            </blockquote>





	Web I Weave

What Joe really wanted was to stuff his dick up Billy's skinny flat ass, which would be tight but not painfully so, and pound it until he was loose and screaming. Billy, who was always so quiet and stoic. 

No, what Joe really wanted was Billy's chapped lips pressing softly against his own mouth, willingly, sweet. He wanted that kiss and those thin, wiry arms rising up to wrap around him.

So he didn't know how it ended up like this, with him on the dirty bathroom floor, water soaking through the knees of his jeans, cold and filthy, mouth full of Billy's cock and Billy's eyes closed, face turned up, probably thinking about anyone in the world except Joe, who was here, who was doing it, who was willing to do it knowing he might not get anything in return. Joe managed to glance up and saw Billy biting his lower lip, hard, and out of spite he swallowed Billy deeper even though it felt like too much and maybe like he might gag, just to see if Billy would break down and spit out the name he was thinking of. Just to see who it was on his mind.

Billy only let out a quiet, choked whimper, nothing more than a hitch of his breath on a muted moan, and then he was coming, and Joe almost mourned that it went too deep and he didn't get to taste all of it, feel the whole thing on his tongue. He still ended up with a mouthful of come and made a show of gargling it before spitting distastefully on the ground. Those rank puddles weren't just backed up water.

He pulled himself up, one hand on the toilet paper dispenser, and Billy was zipping up and saying nothing, like he always did, quiet and with that faraway, haunted look in his eyes. And Joe hated that. He hated that even putting his arm around Billy right now would be awkward, hated that he'd have to wait until they're outside and there's noise and people all around them for him to get back into that zone, into just being allowed to touch Billy again.

Except something was different. Something caged, erratic, in Billy's economic, efficient movements, gliding away from him like a retreating wave and with the same unconscious grace surging right back in. Joe barely got a brief view of Billy's almost frightened expression, and then he had that kiss, too hot, too messy, the taste of Billy's come stronger than the taste of his mouth, teeth clicking together, one arm almost hesitant around Joe's shoulders and Billy's desperate moan like he didn't just get off. Like what he wanted still eluded him.

"Hey," Joe said dumbly when Billy moved away again, jerky and fidgeting and uncomfortable.

"After the show," Billy said, urgent, breathless. "I got a hotel room." They hadn't booked hotel rooms, Joe thought. They'd planned to stay in the van or find something along the way or crash at whoever's. Billy got that room on his own money. He hadn't told the others; he probably wouldn't have told Joe if it wasn't for this.

"Meet you there," Joe said to Billy's retreating back, to the sweat marking his spine down his dark t-shirt. The door was still swinging when two girls entered, giggling, and spotted him, standing there feeling blank and stupid with stains on his knees and a hard-on that wouldn't quit.

"Want help with that?" One asked and pointed at his crotch, smirking. The other laughed and nodded.

Joe hesitated. It was four hours at least until the end of the show; the warm up bands hadn't even started yet.

"We got some blow," the second girl said suggestively, and then laughed again. "To go with the blow job," she said, and Joe made up his mind.

He woke up three days later with the taste of blood and vomit in his throat, his watch and wallet missing, and some angry guy standing over him demanding his five hundred back or else. Joe had no idea if he made the show, let alone the hotel and Billy and that promised night that could've been his ticket. He never asked; not something you can ask, _hey, Billy, you know how I always wanted to fuck you, well, can you please tell me if I did or didn't_. And Billy never brought it up again.

Sometimes, late at night, Joe would lie down in his bed alone and stare at the ceiling, hand on his cock, and wonder what it would have been like. If he had made it to Billy's hotel room that night, or better yet, if he had made it there sober, at least sober enough to remember what he was doing, to make it good for Billy, for himself, make it un-fucking-forgettable. Imagined Billy's ass under his hands, under his tongue, around his cock, imagined Billy's wide eyes grateful and delirious with the sensation, with how good Joe made him feel. 

Usually he needed even more coke to get through those nights, or at least a lot of drinks. Sometimes he'd pass out before he could come, numb with the drugs and the alcohol, insistently pulling on his cock and getting nowhere until it was too late and he'd wake up with that empty feeling and a vague ache in his balls. Sometimes he'd call Billy up and ask him how he's doing.

There were a million ways that night could've ended, a million different outcomes. Joe somehow let them all slip through his fingers, pissed them away like he did with every chance he ever got in his life. That night could've been the night.

"How are you doing?" he says to the phone.

"I'm good," Billy answers from a million miles away.

Tonight can be the night. Every night can be the night.

Joe hangs up with a sigh and pulls on his cock one last time before he gives up and wraps his fingers around the neck of a bottle.


End file.
